


Nothing Will Harm You

by CluelessKitten



Series: It's Just The Beginning (This Isn't The End) [2]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU, Red Hood: Lost Days, Red Robin (Comics), Under the Red Hood
Genre: Angst, Family Feels, Female Tim, Gen, Genderbend, Hurt/Comfort, Protective Jason, Recovery, a/b/o dynamics
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-19
Updated: 2018-04-29
Packaged: 2019-04-04 14:14:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14022030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CluelessKitten/pseuds/CluelessKitten
Summary: In between the danger and the drama of their lives are the quiet moments. The ones that bind them together through the hard times - the moments they hold close to their hearts and swear they'll never forget.(Or: A companion piece but maybe not necessarily a sequel to 'Look at Me'.)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Father is a monster.
> 
> What does that make Gray?

It happens sometimes, early in the morning before the sun rises. Anticipation pools like dread in Gray's stomach as he listens to the softly ticking wall clock, as he forces himself to breathe in and out. His eyes are closed, hands clammy. He lies on the bed, a fluffy comforter tucked into the sides.

Mother's breathing hitches.

It's one of those nights.

The bedroom door – the only bedroom in Jason's apartment – creaks. It's slow. Careful. Mindful of the bedroom's occupants, and maybe Gray could appreciate that if he wasn't already awake. The scent hits his nose like a comforting wave that unknots his muscles and lets him  _breathe_.

He hears the lightest footsteps from one of the most heavily-built people he's met, and waits.

Mother starts moving. Struggling. Gray hears Jason shushing her gently as she shifts in his arms. He cracks open his eyes and only ever sees the same thing: Jason cradling Mother on the futon at the foot of Gray's bed. Holding her like she's something precious, smoothing her hair back as he comforts her. It's a strange thing, all silhouette from the city lights streaming through the curtain cracks, but his sight is excellent and he watches them from the bed.

Mother cries.

Sometimes, Mother screams and not even Jason can save her from the nightmares. She's safe, and still…

Father did this. Father destroyed Mother, Gray knows; he watched it happen in the records. He'd listened, he'd watched, and felt ill deep inside with a burning sensation in his eyes although he didn't know why.

Father is a monster.

What does that make Gray?

Eventually, Mother quietens, but Jason doesn't leave. Gray isn't sure if Jason ever leaves on nights like these. He stays in the bedroom, holding Mother, murmuring things in her ear Gray can't make out.

He breathes Jason's scent in, a weak attempt at calming himself.

Jason is here.

His scent envelopes both Mother and Gray, a defining mark for anyone else who comes close. A warning, almost, and the branding irritates him whenever he's reminded of it. But at night, just before the sun rises, when Jason calms her down, it is safety. It is protection.

Jason won't let the nightmares consume Mother.

Gray falls asleep. To Mother's soft whimpers, to Jason's steady presence.

The clock ticks on.

 

 

Jason snores when he sleeps. Not loudly, but he snores. He also lies on his stomach on the couch.

It doesn't look comfortable.

"Staring isn't polite, Gray," Mother reminds him from the kitchen.

"Yes, Mother."

His gaze lingers for a moment longer before he turns around and waddles towards the stove. There's a cookbook on the counter, open to a page on breakfast foods.

"How do you feel about pancakes?"

Jason makes pancakes, and it's not even Sunday. Why is Mother doing this? But she doesn't offer to cook often, so Gray bites his lip and thinks about it very carefully. "How about an omelet?"

Mother shrugs. She's tied her hair back in a ponytail and clipped back the short wisps at the front. "Omelet it is, then."

Gray exhales and nods. Mother is very present this morning, and he likes the way her forehead wrinkles slightly as she puts their meal together. There are hours in the day when her eyes mist over and he needs to startle her before she comes back. Sometimes, she doesn't recognize him right away.

It's fine. Really.

It's his fault, after all.

Gray sets the table up for three even though Jason won't wake up until noon. Mother doesn't know the specifics of what he does sand she doesn't ask, but they both know he hasn't given up being a vigilante. Mother has, though – which is a wonderful, practical decision – so he won't say anything.

The omelet is a little crisper than Jason makes them, but Gray eats all of it.

"I was thinking we could go out today," Mother says as they wash up the dishes. "Just the two of us."

Jason snores on the couch.

Gray nods slowly. "Where will we go?"

"Out," she says firmly. "It's not good to stay inside all the time. We'll go to the grocery, and we'll get some clothes, or go to a bookstore. That would be nice, wouldn't it?"

"Yes, Mother." Are there even any bookstores nearby?

"We could go to a café … somewhere I haven't been before. And I really need to get my hair cut soon."

"Yes, Mother."

"We can go watch a movie or take a walk in the park. I think there's one near here."

"Yes, Mother."

"Or maybe I should just bleach my hair and dye it purple."

"Ye –  _Mother_?" Gray splutters. He almost mishandles the bowl but manages to save it before it reaches the floor. He looks at her sharply but gets taken aback by the mirth in her eyes.

"Just trying to see if you were listening." When he keeps staring at her, she says, gently, "I won't dye my hair orange, Gray, I swear. But we  _are_  going outside. Do you have anywhere you might like to go or something to do?"

Mother is smiling at him, talking to him, teasing him, and he doesn't really care what they do if she can stay like this.

Gray swallows. "Bookstore." Jason's pitiful selection of reading materials have grown dull.

She nods thoughtfully. "Bookstore it is, then. We'll leave after lunch."

 

 

"Text me if you need anything," Jason says absently from the apartment's only armchair. His eyes are glued onto his laptop screen where he's working on what looks like a report. His eyes flicker towards Gray. "You smell nervous, kid. Worried about something?"

Gray tears his eyes away from the bedroom door. "What if I lose Mother in a crowd?"

"What?" Jason does a double-take. "Gray, your mom isn't a kid – she isn't a  _little_  kid. You're not gonna lose her in a crowd."

He glares. "Mother is not  _well_."

Jason's lips press together. "Okay, fine, I'll give you that. Trust me, though, if you'd seen her when we were in Gotham, you wouldn't be that worried about it. Thea can handle herself pretty well. But," he adds at Gray's quickly narrowing gaze, "If something does happen, you have my number. I'll come get you, wherever you are."

Gray settles his fists on his knees, tries looking calm and dignified as he regards his mother's adopted brother. "Promise?"

"Promise."

 

 

He doesn't lose Mother – although, that might more because of the death grip with which he'd held her hand than anything else.

"Gray," she says hesitantly as they cross a busy street later on. Gray holds a bag in his other hand – three books Mother allowed him to pick out of the bookshop. "I'm glad you want to stay close, but you're starting to cut off the circulation in my hand."

"Sorry."

"It's alright." Mother carefully adjusts their grip into something that must feel more comfortable to her. "I know this is hard for you, and it's probably not what you were thinking of when you started looking for me."

Gray didn't know what to expect when he left Father, but he nods slowly. They're walking at a leisurely pace, good for talking. Nothing like the all-business fast walk of the other pedestrians passing them by. He muses, "Did you ever love Father?"

It startles her, and for a moment Gray feels the squeeze of her hand around his before the pressure lessens. "Gray, I'm … I'm sorry. No. I could never – can never love your father."

She honestly seems sorry to tell him that.

"It's alright, Mother." It is, really. In fact, it makes everything so much easier.

After all, someday he will kill Father.

"You really need more winter clothes," Mother murmurs, almost to herself, as they pass by several shops. "You don't mind if we make a few detours, do you, Gray?"

He remembers their first trip to a clothes store: Mother had looked so distressed at having to pick out his clothes, and what would he know about any of it? Gray doesn't care if his clothes are yellow or blue or brown or orange but saying that had only fried her nerves. He has since then modified his set of responses towards the matter.

"I don't mind, Mother."

Mother's smile is sunshine to cloudy days.

Much, much later, he finds himself standing behind her as she sits in a salon chair while she specifies the cut she'd like to have.

"Your hair is fine," Gray insists. There are bags and bags and bags hanging from his hands, and he'd suggest going back to the apartment alone except Mother is so happy today and what if something happens to her now? "I saw women with hair longer than yours today."

"Thank you, Gray, but I've always preferred my hair shorter than this," Mother says. "You can sit down by the waiting area, you know." She eyes the bags sympathetically, but Gray shakes his head.

"You have such a cute brother," the hairstylist coos.

Gray nearly hisses. Mother is not his  _sister_. He has half-sisters, and they have no love lost between them. Talia is just as bad as  _Father_. He doesn't correct her, however, because both Jason and Mother have made it very clear that Alathea Drake having a nine-year-old child at age seventeen will only make problems for everyone involved.

He smiles at the deeply misguided young woman and mutters, "Thanks, Miss."

By the time they walk out of the salon, Mother's hair is several inches shorter and  _layered_ , and they take a cab back to the apartment. The sky is already darkening, and it's best not to stay out too late. There are bags of groceries, clothes, and books in their arms, and stumbling through the front door and dumping everything on the table becomes a strange sort of relief.

The smell of Jason's lasagna hits him late, and he almost melts before Mother nudges him to help her put everything away.

"Busy day?"

Gray turns towards Jason's voice to see him looking curiously at some of their purchases before gathering up the appropriate ones and spiriting them off to the bathroom shelves. When he returns, he ruffles Mother's hair fondly. Gray reminds himself to relax – it's only Jason.

If anyone ever dares raise a hand against Mother, Gray will tear their throat out with his  _teeth_.

"Fairly so," Gray says absently as Mother pushes his hand off with a laugh. Her blow-dried hair reaches only an inch or two past her shoulders now. Gray will miss the tickle of the ends when they hug.

"It looks good."

"Thanks."

The shine in Mother's eyes are not from tears. Her cheeks are still pink from their small outing. She stands under the warm artificial light with Jason, and Gray…

He pushes himself into her side and lets her warmth thaw his insides. He feels her hand on his head, not ruffling or pushing him away, just there. He hears her say his name as he presses his face into her sweater.

She still smells a bit like the salon.

Gray purses his lips and tries not to feel stranded. How can he find her in a crowd if he's never known her scent? He needs to stay near her. Mother is  _delicate_. Gray watched Mother break before she met Jason. She almost  _died_  before she met Jason.

Gray almost let Mother die.

What good is he if he can't take care of his own mother?

 

 

"Gray?"

Jason's startled voice jerks him out of his stupor. Gray composes himself quickly on the armchair, trying very hard not to look like he wasn't just fighting off sleep.

"What are you doing up? It's late; are you sick?" Jason walks up to him, smelling clean from his shower a few minutes ago, and makes to try and take his temperature with the back of his hand.

"I am not sick." Gray bats away his hand irately. " _Jason_."

"Well, what are you doing out of bed, then?"

It's a good question, a very good question his body screams at him. Mother has gotten a strange idea in her head to put Gray on a regular sleep schedule that encompasses eight hours of the night, every night, and her futon is placed along the very foot of his bed. Getting out of the bedroom without waking her was almost a nightmare in itself, full of hesitant movements and held breaths.

The door's squeaking hinges never seemed so  _loud_.

Jason's arms are folded, Gray is sleepy but not tired, and he clenches his fists hard enough to hurt.

"Mother screams in her sleep."

It's all he needs to say for Jason to soften his stance. The guardedness goes down, and it's too fast, so fast Gray almost sneers at how trusting the man is. But it's what he's looking for, what he needs for this. It's a difference between Jason and Father – one of many. It's a difference that lets him speak honestly.

Gray breathes in deep, breathing in air and Jason, and bites the inside of his cheek. His heart beats fast like a rabbit, and he feels just as small.

Jason sits down on the couch as he draws his palm down his face. With his other hand, he pats the space beside him, and Gray rises to settle there instead. He sits there beside Jason and curls up to hug his knees.

Jason waits.

"I wake when the nightmares begin," Gray confesses. His eyes cling resolutely to their reflection on the TV screen. "I … hear her. I listen, until she stops. You…" He swallows. "You calm her down. Please, tell me how I can help Mother." He whispers, "Please."

Jason stares at Gray now, something tired and thoughtful and deeply sympathetic etched onto his face.

"Gray," he says, hesitantly. "This is going to take time. Your mom … it's not easy."

"I will protect her from Father. You and I."

"We will, Gray, we will… but it's not that simple, either."

Gray stares at Jason; the man sighs.

"It's not just your old man who messed her up. It's … it's a lot of things. She became Robin when she was eleven, and her life's gone to complete shit – er, down the drain since then.'' Jason spreads his hands as if accepting a heavy weight. "I won't pretend to know everything that's gone on in her life before and after she turned into Robin, but I've heard some things. There're some records, too; it's not too hard to put two and two together. Your mom hasn't had an easy life – and I'll be honest, I wasn't making things any better for a long time there.

"Almost everyone she ever loved died, Gray. That's not something a lot of people can walk away from unscathed, Omega or not. She's had a breakdown building up for years. Dick – our oldest adopted brother died a few months back, and – I knew he was important to her, but she kinda just  _stopped_  after his death. I don't think she could take it anymore." Softer, he says, "Your mom's an extraordinary person, but at the end of the day? She's still a kid. You gotta remember that.

"I'm not saying what your dad did wasn't terrible, or that it wasn't probably one of the things that threw her over the edge, but there are a lot of other traumas Thea needs to work through, too. It's just … it'll take time."

"But she'll get better?"

"Of course," Jason says, earnestly. "If I thought I wasn't helping her, and she wanted to leave, then I'd give her to someone who can." Cautiously, he puts his hand on Gray's shoulder. "I know you want to help her, Gray, but you already are."

How can he say that when he feels so useless?

"She's gotten more lively around you, you know. Meeting you … it changed her – not in a bad way. She's more determined than she was before, and I don't know if you see it, but she loves you so damn much. I know it hurts seeing her this way, but you're just gonna have to have a lot of patience with her. And one day, we might need to accept that she might always be a little … off."

Gray glares at Jason. "Why didn't you help her back then?"

"I had my own issues, Gray. A lot of them ended up with me tearing through Gotham in a homicidal rage –  _not_  something anyone wanted to be around. But I'll tell you this: when I first got your mom, she could barely look at me, or talk at all. That's a far cry from now, and I know she's trying. She tries her best to come back to us."

Gray's eyes burn. "I  _hate_  Father."

"Well, for what it's worth, I hate him, too. But you can't focus on that – right now, you've got your mom. She needs you."

When Gray doesn't reply, Jason leans his head back on the couch and closes his eyes. He doesn't make him get off the couch or go to bed, so Gray sits there and tries not to think.

 

 

Mother never smells like anything, and it's somewhat nerve-wracking to have to wait and see if or when the nightmares start without being able to smell any sort of discernible change in the air. Gray watches from the doorway, letting soft light spill into the darkness. He barely moves, even when he smells-hears- _feels_  Jason's approach.

"Go to bed, Gray." He sounds tired, and he is. Gray knows it in his scent, in the lines on his face. Jason is exhausted. "Or – you can stay on the couch, if you like."

"No," he says flatly, even as he heads on into the bedroom. He tacks on, belatedly, "Thanks."

Jason watches Gray shuffle inside, but uncertainty enters his scent when he goes down on the futon and settles against Mother's side. Her breath hitches from the unexpected contact, and she tenses. She draws in a short, sharp breath, and he feels her heart beat faster.

Concerned, Jason walks into the bedroom as well. He sits on the edge of the futon to gently smooth her hair back. "You're okay, Thea," he murmurs, the words so soft they almost blend together. His voice is deep and gentle, though, and Gray strains his ears to hear him better. "You're safe."

Gray cuddles Mother – a word he's learned from her – and listens to his litany or reassurances. There's a roughness about it as if brimming with emotion which is strange, but it's Jason and the smell is Jason, and in the darkness of this room, Gray holds on to it as hard as he clings to Mother.

He closes his eyes, his head cushioned by her shoulder. One of his hands reach over and across Mother, to cautiously clutch Jason's loose shirt – the kind of shirt he tends to wear at night. When no reprimand comes, he grips the small section of cloth more securely.

Gray falls asleep.

There are no nightmares.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You weren't waiting for her to come back, were you?"

"Holy shit, Gray, what the hell did you do to this place?"

Jason stands at the doorway of Thea's old apartment, staring at the overturned furniture, smelling the overwhelming scent of dead flower, and a certain chill creeps under his skin. It's stupid: it's not like anyone died here – not that Thea mentioned, anyway – and they're just here to pick up some of Thea's things, clean up the place a bit, and see if the apartment as a whole might still be salvageable. From what little he can see from the doorway alone, however, it all just seems like a lost cause already. His current place might be too small to reasonably house the three of them forever, and his overall income ends up pretty slim, but they certainly don't have to live here.

"You know what, screw the lease," Jason says, hanging back by the entrance. The vantage point is somewhat limited, and he leans against the doorway as he surveys the interior. The furniture is apparently not just overturned but, in many cases, broken in some way, and– "Kid, did you claw into the plaster?"

What kind of fucking frenzy did Gray work himself into while he waited for his mom? He doesn't even look ashamed, merely glancing at the mentioned marks on the wall. He gives a flat 'yes' and follows after Thea, helping her put some of the furniture upright.

The smell of dead flowers is almost overwhelming when Jason does walk into the apartment, and he fights down the urge to choke or cough.

He fails.

Thea sends him sympathetic glances before walking into the kitchen and producing a roll of black, plastic trash bags.

Jason remembers being so full of rage, he destroyed whatever he could justify deserved it. He never had to pick up after himself, though, and as he helps Thea and Gray clean the mess, he wonders what it was like for the police and … well, everyone uninvolved in his war against Batman. It's not something he's put too much thought into before – although he's given some consideration towards the victims' families once he calmed down – but he never imagined someone mopping up the bloodstains his messier kills had a tendency of leaving behind, or maybe even just the fact that someone had to clean up the debris from the fights. Probably multiple someones, thinking back on the wreckage the Red Hood and Batman can wreak.

Thea opens the walk-in closet and audibly breathes out a sigh of relief upon seeing everything inside relatively intact.

"Gray, why did you destroy your mother's apartment?" Jason asks quietly from where he stands by the dresser. "I mean, you were waiting for her. Did you think she would be happy with coming back to … this?"

Gray shrugs. Thea digs through her closet and puts some things in the duffel bag she has slung over shoulder, but he knows she's listening.

"Were you angry?" he presses. "Afraid? Worried?"

"Yes."

"You know you can't just tear things up when she doesn't come home for a while, right?" It's pretty rich of him to be saying this at all, but Jason can see problems in the near-future if this isn't addressed at some point. "Throwing tantrums like these doesn't help anyone."

Gray looks at him then, like he's said something incredibly stupid. With his flattest and yet somehow most condescending voice, he says, simply, "I know."

Jason flicks the kid's nose. He clears some more of the floor or petals and abused furniture, opening the windows as he goes by. It helps air out the stuffiness in the apartment some, but not entirely. The flower scent at least lessens.

After a couple repetitions of throwing out the garbage bags into the dumpster outside, he notices Gray just … standing in the middle of the bedroom. There's a flower petal in his hand, and he stares at it hard like he's trying to figure something out; eyebrows furrowed and everything. Thea's moved on to the spare bedroom she'd converted into a small work area, leaving him alone with Jason. She couldn't meet Gray's eyes when she left, and Jason… Jason has no idea what to do with that.

"You alright, kid?"

"When she first disappeared, I tried ... I tried to find her," he admits, and Jason pauses a moment before going back to removing books off the shelf and piling them haphazardly in a cardboard box. He'll organize it later; for now, he listens.

"I searched the streets for days." Gray's eyes are distant, his voice flat and dead. "It wasn't until I took to the rooftops that I found her blood. Spilled. There was so much. I thought perhaps…"

Jason remembers it: the blood on his hands, the wrongness of not smelling any sort of scent, just the feeling of his own suppressed panic.

Quietly, busily, he waits.

"I couldn't find a – body. Moreover, there was no record of her being admitted to any hospital or clinic I could find, but the blood loss was too much for her to survive on her own, and without medical treatment." Gray's eyes close. "Father always praised Mother's intelligence, so it was possible she took refuge elsewhere and..."

Jason runs a dusty hand through his hair. He regards his young nephew – so much younger than he looks and acts – and asks him, "You weren't waiting for her to come back, were you?"

Gray stares sat the petal. It falls from his hand, fluttering through the air before landing on the floor and drab sunlight filters through the open windows. A little boy standing among dust, small debris, and dry petals. The room lies dead all around him, and the green of his downcast eyes seem to glow in the midst of it.

"Gray, why did you come here?"

"Where else could I have gone? Father is…" His voice fades, and he breathes in deep. "You've met them; you know my sister. They are not kind people."

Jason nods. "That, they are not."

"Father has not found me worthy yet of the name 'al Ghul'. He merely called me gray for the pallor of my skin – he promised he would give me a new one when the time came."

Jason finishes sweeping the rest of petals into the garbage bag. He ties it up and puts it in a corner for later. "You don't need his family title – it probably ain't even his real one. We'll think of a cover story for you, and you can pick whatever you want – whether it includes your mom's surname or something else entirely."

Gray visibly pauses before shaking his head and walking towards a wall. It holds the deepest scratch marks, and he runs his fingers over it. "I thought she was dead," he murmurs softly, "And I didn't know what to do or where to go. Father holds no love for me; who else could, if Mother died?"

Gray's scent is filled with so much sadness that Jason abandons his currently minimal effort to clean and puts his hand on his shoulder. It's awkward, and he's not the person Gray needs this from, but he's the one here with him now and damn if he isn't going to do something. Thea can't do this on her own, and Jason – Jason knows.

A small prickle at the back of his neck makes him turn around to see Thea standing a little behind the open doorway. Her expression is unreadable, which doesn't always bode well, but Jason nods to her.

She walks towards them, slowly closing the space between, and she kneels in front of Gray. She takes his hands in hers. Gray's eyes look at it, her hands encasing his own, and Jason squeezes his shoulder gently.

"I will admit," Thea says slowly, carefully, "That there are a lot of awful people living in the world. You're gonna meet them, and they'll hurt you or use you, and sometimes you'll need to work with them anyway. But there are good people, too, who'll help you if you let them. They're hard to find, and sometimes you don't figure it out until the end, but they're there. Your – your dad and I aren't the only people who can love you or care about you."

Gray bites his lip. Barely a whisper, he mouths, "Who are they?"

Jason leans down and ruffles the hair on his dark little head. "They're called friends."

"You'll meet them, Gray," Thea says, her voice impossibly soft and tender. "Someday, you're going to make the best of friends and they'll stand by you no matter what, whether it's today or tomorrow or ten years down the road. So, never think that no one else can love you. You just … haven't met the right people yet.

"Promise me that if something happens to me, you won't hide yourself away somewhere and – and just die there."

"Mother–"

"Promise me… please. Even now, I'm not the only one who loves you, anymore."

Jason clears his throat. "Your mom's right, Gray. I care about you, too."

Gray looks at him then, his eerily green eyes wide and ... tearful. He stares at Jason as if searching for deception or truth. Whatever he sees, when he looks at Thea again, he whispers, "Promise."

Then, he … throws himself at them. Half at Thea, and half at Jason's leg. Jason goes down on one knee and wraps his arms around both of them. Around his Pack. He breathes in deep, and – notes a soft, slightly sweet scent he can barely smell. It's new and right, and he squeezes them closer to him for it.

It's a sign. It's a good sign.

He just hopes Thea sees it that way, too.

They stay like that for a while, just holding each other, until Thea pulls away gently.

"I've packed my things," she says and stands. She doesn't let go of Gray's hands yet. "I'll have the apartment inspected at a later time and pay for the damages, but we can leave for now."

"Oh, thank God. You up for a chili dog, Gray?"

It's kind of funny, seeing the kid try to temper his expression even though the excitement bleeds into his scent anyway. Jason grins and starts picking up the last garbage bags to throw out. Thea, on the other hand, wears her backpack, now bulging with who knows what, and holds several boxes of things piled high in her arms; Gray picks up the duffel bag and looks the slightest bit put out at his lack of responsibility. Jason hands him one of the garbage bags.

"I think I can safely say that none of us want to live here," Thea starts, to which Jason can't entirely stop his emphatic agreements.

"Does this mean you'll start looking for a new apartment then, Mother?"

Jason and Thea glance at each other, uncertainty holding their gazes before she looks back down at her son. "Yes, Gray. Jason and I will start looking for an apartment we can afford together."

'Afford together' is really the key phrase. If Thea wanted an entire house and property, she'd easily be able to afford one, but Jason put his foot down a few nights ago when they'd originally talked about it between themselves. He's not proud of it, but it hurts him that he can't appropriately provide for Thea and Gray in this area. He's the Alpha of their Pack: he's supposed to be the one providing basic necessities. As it is, he can't afford a much better place than what he'd already rented out for himself, along with the additional expenses of keeping up his nightly activities.

They're away from the apartment building when Gray speaks up again.

"And Jason is coming with us?"

Thea blinks. "Of course. Jason is a part of our Pack."

Jason laughs, nudging Gray playfully. "You're not getting rid of me that easily, you rascal."

Gray nods, almost to himself. "So, Pack … doesn't leave each other?"

"Ideally, no," Thea says hesitantly after a panicked glance towards Jason, to which he'd nodded encouragingly. "But sometimes, because of certain situations, they have to be apart for a while."

"But not forever?"

"Not forever," Jason confirms when Thea falters. "Your family, your Pack – they'll always come back to you."

"Even if it takes a while," Thea finishes with a crooked grin and a shared glance with Jason. She elbows him, and he pushes back playfully.

"Even if it takes a while," he agrees.

 

 

"Not that thin, Gray."

Jason carefully guides the kitchen knife held in Gray's hand to a certain width on a carrot they'll need for dinner. The kid's got a good handle on the knife, but the speed he prefers using to chop the vegetable makes the sizes clumsier and turns into a slight hazard for the nearby fingers holding the carrot still. "Just slice it – like that."

"Gray, can you come here?" Thea calls from the living room area. "There's something I want to show you."

Gray hesitates, but Jason jerks his head towards Thea. "It's alright, I'll finish up here."

He doesn't come back. Later, when Jason walks out of the kitchen area, he finds them huddle up together on the couch looking through an album. A medium-sized cardboard box sits on the coffee table, several of its contents unpacked, including a professional, if slightly dated-looking camera.

"Jason." Thea waves him over, and he drops down on the other end of the couch, arm draping over the back as he looks over.

The album's pages are filled with a mix of candid and posed shots of – a lot of people, actually. Jason sees a few of Superboy and Impulse, a handful of the Gotham skyline… A lot of Bruce, Dick, and Alfred. They're pretty good and probably worth a fortune if she ever decides to sell them off somewhere: she's got the entire family from normal shots of everyday activities to candid photos featuring their night life.

"Geez, you should've become a photographer." Jason whistles appreciatively at a particular shot of Batman and Nightwing perching near stone gargoyles. It's dark, at an angle, but the city lights illuminate them just right and it's just – it's Gotham. Shadowy, polluted, and beautiful.

She inclines her head. "I could have been."

"Or a private investigator."

"Now that's more my style," she laughs.

"They are skillful, Mother," Gray says hesitantly.

"Thank you, Gray." She strokes his hair gently, turning a page with her other hand. "I was doing this for a long time – longer than Batman knew about me – but most of these people are my friends now. See that guy?" She points to a picture of Superboy laughing. "That's Kon. He's one of my best friends. And he–" she points at a more formal picture of B "–is your grandfather. His name is Bruce."

Jason nods at the shot of Damian napping with a dog. "And that brat over there is your nephew-slash-uncle."

Gray nods, his eyes trained on the album pages as if memorizing every detail of the people's frozen smiles. He looks up at them uncertainly. "They are … Pack?"

"Not necessarily," Jason says slowly. "You're sort of related, but Pack is more than blood ties or technicalities. They're about relationships, so … you can be Pack, but unless you meet them, you'll never find out for sure."

Thea's thumb traces gently over the faces on the photographs. "We have an open invitation to the Manor," she murmurs. "We should visit sometime."

That's an idea. "Probably a good idea to move into a new place first," Jason says, looking pointedly at the piled-up boxes on the floor around them.

She nods, her eyes watching Gray carefully turn the pages of the album to see more of his mom's life. Thea hesitates, but eventually, she takes in a deep breath. "Gray. If something happens to me … I don't want you to go back to your father. Go to Jason – and if not him, then Bruce. They'll take care of you." Her voice cuts off sharply before she continues. "Do you understand?"

Gray's mouth opens, and he looks almost as if he might refute the idea of anything happening to Thea, but he stops. Instead, when he finally speaks, he says, "Yes, Mother."

Jason puts his arm around them and moves closer. "Nothing's gonna happen to either of you. Not on my watch. In fact," he adds, reaching forward to pick up Thea's camera off the coffee table, "Why don't we take a picture?"

"What does that have to do with anything?" Thea asks blankly. Gray just looks at him curiously.

"It's gonna be our first record as a Pack. We're gonna look back on this picture, and all the others we'll take in the future, and we'll remember the moments they were in. They'll be the record of our history together." He smiles hopefully at their still-doubting faces. "What do you say?"

"We've got dust in our hair," Thea points out quietly, although she takes the camera from Jason. She turns it on, fiddling with the settings and scope.

"It's a picture of us – our first one." He shrugs. "Who cares if it's not perfect?"

Thea's mouth twitches. "Who, indeed," she murmurs. A press of her finger triggers the camera and the flash goes off. She frowns, adjusting the settings for another moment before finally holding it out, facing it towards them. "Gray, look up." Hesitantly, she adds, "You can smile if you want to."

"Should I?"

"People usually smile for pictures, yeah," Jason says, awkwardly, when Thea fails to answer right away. "Especially when they're posing for it."

Gray's eyes flicker between Jason and Thea before going back to the camera. "Okay."

"Alright," Thea says, her hand still holding out the camera as she leans towards them. "Ready? One…"

Jason leans down, nearer to Gray, an easy smile settling on his lips.

"Two…"

He lightly puts a hand on each of their shoulders and hugs them close. He doesn't know how Thea knows they all fit in the frame, but he trusts her camera skills.

"Three."

The camera clicks and whirs, devoid of its flash. It's almost anticlimactic, but Jason carefully lets go of his Pack almost immediately. He still doesn't know whether or not they're too fond of physical contact – at least, when it comes from him – despite his sudden fit of clinginess for the photograph.

Something in Gray must be rubbing off on him.

"Well, look at that." Thea shows them the picture, displayed on the small camera screen. It's an interesting shot: Jason is overtly cheerful, Thea has a tentative, somewhat awkward smile, and while Gray isn't smiling at all, he does stare rather intently at the camera. They look tired from their earlier trip to Thea's apartment, and the angle isn't the best, but it's them. "It came out pretty good after all."

She pauses, eyes flickering to her son. "Would you like a copy, Gray?"

"Yes." Gray's eyes stay glued to the picture, as if it's a particularly fascinating thing. "Please."

Jason's growing fond of ruffling Gray's hair, and he does it again, smirking at the way he irately tries fixing it. "There's gonna be plenty more of that, kid."

"Of what?" Thea regards the two of them fondly. "The hair mussing or the pictures?"

Jason laughs. "Both."

Gray huffs, but his scent lacks any actual anger, and his movements are softer. It's a far cry from when he first came to them, and Jason breathes in and tries letting his scent envelope his Pack, wants it to stick on them for the world to know that they're his - to care for, to support and protect.

To love.

God help anyone who messes with that.

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on ff.net
> 
> I hope you enjoyed reading this companion piece to 'Look at Me'!


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